Vintage Parlour
by Platinum Express
Summary: Hermione's just dying for a chance to get into the Malfoy Manor. This turn of events seems to be too good to be true.
1. Excuses and Hesitation

**CHAPTER ONE**

'You know what you have to do,' Richard said, quietly.

Hermione didn't answer at first. She was seated opposite Richard, her fingers drumming thoughtfully against his desk. Glancing at his cool, collected expression, she knew that what he was saying made sense. But that didn't make his suggestion any more palatable.

She chose her words carefully. 'They don't like me,' she said.

Richard quirked a sandy eyebrow. 'They know you?'

'Draco Malfoy and I were in school together. We studied in the same year.'

She knew, even as she was saying this, that her words were a mistake. Richard snorted sardonically.

'School rivalry? Is this some kind of house-versus-house situation? You can't honestly be serious.'

Hermione sighed. 'Ricky, it's more than that. Malfoy and his entire family hated Harry and they were all torn up about my supposedly impure blood. Some of these rivalries go deeper than you'd imagine. They aren't going to let me into their house.'

Richard sighed and slid his wire-frame glasses further up his nose. Hermione caught him glance towards the false window in his office – the artificial sun's rays were deep orange and on the verge of fading away, and she knew he wanted to get home to his wife and kids.

But he wasn't going anywhere until they thrashed this thing out.

'Well?' she pressed.

'They aren't going to have much of a choice. There's been a death in the family – an inquest is essential and all the paperwork which comes with that. I can have Marianna at the Registry whip up some very authentic documents which will force the Malfoys into letting you into their house.'

Hermione raised an eyebrow. She had been working under Richard for four years and this was the first time he had condoned – let alone suggested – forging paperwork.

'You're very serious about this, aren't you?' she asked, contemplatively.

Richard didn't answer. Instead, he pushed a file across his desk and gestured to her to open it. Hermione pulled out the first piece of parchment in it and ran her eyes over it.

'This is the report of Lucius Malfoy's death,' she said, making a note of the official stamp on the paper.

Richard nodded. 'Unknown causes. No sign of mischief, but no real reason for the man to drop dead either. Add to this the fact that he was once a well-known Death Eater and he's spend some time in Azkaban. The Ministry has a right to investigate this – there might just be something going on.'

Hermione raised an eyebrow. 'Do you really think Malfoy was killed?'

Richard shrugged. 'Who knows? Personally, I don't think so. The man was past fifty and not exactly in the pink of health, especially post-Azkaban. All I'm pointing out is that given the circumstances, the Ministry has a _right_ to investigate this.'

'A right you're going to take full advantage of,' Hermione added.

She picked up the file again and flipped over to the next page. All the details of Lucius Malfoy's death, right down to the kind of lace that trimmed the nightgown his wife was wearing when she found his body, were mentioned in it.

'Parisienne,' she murmured.

'What?'

'Nothing. Tell me exactly how this is going to pan out?'

Richard looked pleased. Hermione knew he thought he had got his way. 'It's simple. Tomorrow, I'll speak to Marianna about that documentation and send a notice to the Malfoy Manor to let them know you'll be staying there for a month, compiling information for the inquest. It's all very above-board. Back here, I'll just integrate the documents about Lucius Malfoy's death with your pre-existing project and you needn't report to anybody but me.'

Hermione was still contemplating the project later that evening, as she walked down the street to the apartment she shared with Ron. On one hand, Richard was her boss – if he asked her to take up a project, she technically had no right to refuse. On the other, she had been working with him long enough to be able to establish what she was and wasn't comfortable with.

And this was something she definitely wasn't comfortable with.

Hermione sighed in frustration as she entered the building. She had been working on the Malfoy project for over three months now and truth be told, the guy was as slippery as an eel. She desperately needed some kind of headway and having unlimited access to the Manor for a month was definitely a good chance – especially since all the documentation regarding Lucius Malfoy's inquest would give her the perfect excuse.

On the other hand, living in the Malfoy Manor for thirty whole days could just kill her.

She found her flat door slightly ajar as she crossed the landing and heard Ron speaking to someone. A second later, the door swung open and Melissa, the striking blonde who Ron had been dating for a couple of weeks, strode out. She beamed at Hermione and snatched her up in a quick hug, bag and all, before hurrying on. As Hermione entered the flat and found Ron hauling bags of vegetables to the kitchen, she said, 'I like her.'

Ron paused. 'Melissa?'

'That's right. She's nice. Much better than the last one.'

Ron's brow cleared. 'I like her too. I wanted her to stay for dinner but she said she had some kind of family thing. She brought dessert though.'

Hermione grinned. 'I like her even more. Have you made dinner?'

He shook his head. 'Ordered in. We were plumb out of groceries, I just picked some up. But there's glass noodles and Kung Pao for dinner, if you're okay with that.'

'More than,' Hermione sighed, shrugging off her coat and scarf. It had been breezy outside but their flat was always warm – sometimes slightly stifling. It had only one and a half bedrooms, a kitchen and a parlour that doubled up as a TV room, but on their just-out-of-Hogwarts salaries, it was all they could afford. And they'd grown so attached to it ever since that neither had wanted to move out.

'And while you're heating stuff up, I need to pick your brains about something,' she called out, as she lugged her handbag into her quart-sized bedroom. She heard Ron asking what it was about from the kitchen.

'Malfoy,' she muttered, gritting her teeth, 'As always.'


	2. Autopsies and Capsicum

**CHAPTER TWO**

Draco Malfoy had always been a lonely child. The Manor may have been a charming house, but it had always been too large and lonely for his little family. He could remember the three of them rattling around in the house, like three in-congruent pieces of a puzzle that just wouldn't fit together.

But now, glancing down at his father's white face, he wondered whether they had been so bad after all.

The Ministry had sent them a notice last evening instructing them not to bury the body – it would have to be shipped to Ministry premises for an autopsy, they informed them. Neither he nor his mother had been very sure what that meant, but they knew the stupidity of disobeying orders. An Auror had visited them before dinner time, asked them a few questions and put together a report which he said would be handed to his superiors. The paramedics in their pale-green suits had come in early this morning, and had been bustling around ever since.

His mother was crying, but doing a remarkable job of hiding it. Draco knew she had been crying the entire night but this morning, she had woken early, dressed herself in a dark gown and gone about her chores with a dedication that didn't really surprise him. His mother had never been one to give in to her emotions. She had made up her face to hide its deathly pallor and red-rimmed eyes but Draco could see the faint tremor in her mouth.

One of the paramedics materialized in front of him and asked roughly, 'The body hasn't been moved, has it?'

Draco shook his head. 'My mother found him right here in the library yesterday in the afternoon. We closed his eyes, that's all.'

'So his eyes were open,' the paramedic said, thoughtfully. Both their gazes turned automatically toward Lucius Malfoy. In death, he seemed as intimidating as he had when he was alive. His face was snow white and the color had ebbed from his lips and eyelids. As always, he had been dressed in black robes with a gray vest when he died, his fingers curled around his silver-tipped cane. His mother had found him upright in his armchair, with a leather-bound book on the floor beside him.

'Yes,' said Draco, 'His eyes were open. Does that make any difference?'

'It isn't too common,' said the paramedic shortly, and then turned his attention to the body.

Draco felt someone touch his shoulder lightly and turned to face his mother. 'I'm going to my room,' she said, quietly, 'I don't want to watch. Can you attend to this?'

She might have been talking about a tea party.

'Of course,' said Draco, 'You go have a sleep. I'll see you at dinner.'

Somehow, he felt even more alone after his mother swept out of the room. The paramedics put a quick spell on his father's body, covered it with a sheet and then levitated it to the apparition portal they had set up in one corner of the library. Before they left, one of them thrust a sheaf of papers towards Draco,

'Sign here, please,' he said.

Draco frowned. 'What is this?'

'It proves you've consented to this autopsy.'

'I wasn't away I had a choice,' Draco said, cautiously.

The paramedic flashed a quick smile. 'You don't,' he confirmed.

It began to rain that evening so Ginny, who visited around dinner-time to drop off a pot roast her mother had made for Ron, opted to stay over and eat. She had stopped apparating as soon as she got pregnant because she said it made her queasy. Now in her sixth month, she could barely walk on chubby feet, let alone magically teleport her rapidly swelling body back home.

'Never mind,' she said, cheerfully, 'Harry said he'll pick me up when he's done with work.'

'Why is Harry working late again?' asked Hermione, passing her a box of capsicum pickled in brine.

'Oh, you know. The usual. A tramp in Diagon Alley claimed that renegade Death Eaters had tried to kidnap him. A hoax, obviously, but Harry has to still file a report. It'll probably reach you sometime tomorrow, Hermione.'

'It's a good thing you came over, anyway,' Ron said, digging heartily into the pot roast. He paused to wipe a bit of sauce off his chin and then said, 'Hermione's having some trouble over a project.'

Ginny put down her chopsticks and looked up, interested. 'Harry told me you were working on something top-secret. Apparently, his boss is terribly curious about it. The Investigative Research department normally hands projects over to the Aurors, doesn't it?'

'Not this one,' Hermione said, grimly, 'And it's giving me a hell of a time. Do you remember that case which came to the Wizengamot about - was it five months ago? It was about that financial lawyer who fudged up some paperwork to make it seem that Blaise Zabini's bastard wasn't actually his. The mother sued the lot of them.'

Ginny screwed up her nose in an effort to remember. 'Oh, you mean Carletto,' she said, her brow clearing. 'He's generally known to be quite a disreputable fellow, isn't he? Got a couple of years in Azkaban.'

Hermione nodded vigorously. 'That's the one.'

'Delightful chap,' Ron added, dryly.

Ginny frowned. 'But I thought that case went to the Aurors. Harry mentioned it.'

'It did,' said Hermione, 'But we had to go through the guy's paperwork at Investigative Research. It was just protocol, but then we came across something fishy and Ricky decided to set it up as a project.'

'Elaborate on fishy,' said Ginny.

Hermione paused for a moment to collect her thoughts. 'Carletto had a catalog in which he kept a list of all his clients and the kind of service he provided them. Draco Malfoy was one of those clients.'

'Not surprising,' said Ginny, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione laughed. 'I guess not. But the job definitely was. Draco Malfoy had hired Carletto to perform financial crime - he wanted him to fudge around with paperwork so that he could break into a Gringott's trust fund and withdraw a cool fifty thousand galleons.'

Ginny's eyes widened and she whistled. 'He hired Carletto to embezzle money? That's rich. Whose account did he break?'

Hermione grinned. 'His own,' she said.

There was a moment of silence - save for the noise of Ron chewing his roast.

'I don't get it,' Ginny said, finally.

'It was his own trust fund. His grandfather set it up for him when he was born, but he isn't allowed to touch it or make any withdrawals until he turns twenty-five. Malfoy paid Carletto to break into the account and withdraw the entire sum when he was twenty-three - less than a year back.'

Ginny blinked. 'So why didn't you charge him?'

'Because we don't know what's going on exactly,' explained Hermione, 'Malfoy might get around six months in Azkaban for touching his own money before he turned of age. But there could be something much worse going on here - what did Draco Malfoy need that money so desperate for? That's what Ricky wants me to find out. And technically, except for the timing, he hasn't committed much of a crime - so the project stays with Investigative Research instead of going to the Auror Dep. We still need to find out more.'

Ginny nodded slowly. 'Wait a minute. Malfoy's still under surveillance right? As in, aren't his movements being monitored by the Ministry? So why hasn't this cropped up?'

'Because he's gone to great lengths to keep it secret. We tried to trace the money, and finally we found it in Gringotts itself. He had set up another capital account under an anonymous identity and put the money in there. About half of it was withdrawn right away. Otherwise, there have only been small withdrawals over a three month period.'

Ginny whistled. 'Twenty five thousand galleons is enough for Malfoy to buy himself two yachts and a bevy of hookers. Where is this money going?'

Hermione shrugged. 'That's exactly the problem. We have no idea. I've been working on it for three months, but I haven't got a clue. That's where Lucius Malfoy comes in.'

Ginny raised an eyebrow. 'Lucius Malfoy? Didn't he die yesterday?'

Hermione nodded. 'Dropped dead in his own library. I have the file right here. There doesn't seem to have been any foul play but Investigative Research has to put together a report for his inquest. Ricky is sending me to the Manor for a month to do this. Hopefully, I can make some headway on where this money is going.'

Ron suddenly dropped a piece of meat. 'Wait a minute,' he said, 'You're going to be _staying_ there? You didn't tell me that.'

'For a month,' Hermione said, glumly, 'I haven't exactly signed the dotted line yet, but I don't see that I have a choice.'

'A month in the Malfoy Manor might just kill you,' Ron said.

'I know,' Ginny said, quietly, 'And given what you're working on, it might _actually _kill you.'


	3. Candy and Letters

**CHAPTER THREE  
**

Hermione checked into the Ministry of Magic an hour earlier the next morning, waving a cheerful good morning to the receptionist as she walked in. It had rained all night and even now, she could feel the humidity clinging to her tightly-knotted chignon and the sleeves of her blazer. Richard wasn't in yet so she got herself a cup of coffee and sat down at her desk, pulling out the report on Lucius Malfoy's death.

The report, which had been put together by one of the field workers immediately after Malfoy's body was discovered, was detailed and extraordinarily comprehensive - a whopping 167 pages. Apparently, on the day of his death, the three Malfoys had sat down to a lunch of baked chicken, salted slices of tuna, a lettuce salad and garlic chutney, followed by a mango souffle and then black coffee. After that, Lucius Malfoy had retired to his library, as was his custom. He had taken, during the last few years of his life, to reading more and more about his ancestors and the Malfoy lineage, perhaps consoling himself with the long-lost glory the family had once enjoyed. He called one of the House Elves at around three and asked for a cup of coffee, which was brought to him. That was the last anyone saw of Lucius Malfoy.

Narcissa Malfoy napped all afternoon and when she woke up, she went to the library to find her husband. Along with the lace nightgown, she was wearing robes of scarlet velvet which apparently, she wore in place of a dressing gown. She met her son - who was writing letters - on the way and told him to start dressing, because they'd be going to the Avery's for dinner later that night. Then, she made her way up to the library, where she spotted her husband reclining in his favourite armchair. It was only when she drew up with him and spoke that she realized he was dead.

'Dead,' Hermione murmured, thoughtfully.

Flipping through the report, there seemed to be no indication of foul play. A copy of the autopsy report - which had been put together as soon as the body had been taken away - was enclosed. No external influence that led to death, it said. As Richard had pointed out, Lucius Malfoy was past fifty and had been in a good number of battles - along with spending time in Azkaban. She knew she'd have to put together a report for the inquest, just to lend a touch of credibility to the entire operation. But she didn't think she'd be spending much time on it.

She took a sip from the steaming cup and then pulled out a second file. This one was thicker and more worn, as though it had been thumbed through frequently. It was labelled 'Project 786'. She had been through it several times before, but somehow, she found herself flipping through the file whenever she got a minute of spare time. Inside it were all the details of Malfoy's financial transactions, down to the last knut.

She was still perusing the file when she heard a knock on her door and a gingery head poked in.

'You're in early. Please don't tell me you're still on with your Malfoy investigation?'

Hermione slammed shut the file. 'Orson, get in here immediately and shut up. How many times do I have to tell you not to mention the project so loudly?'

The gingery man - who transpired to be tall and gaunt, with black spectacles and dark blue robes - stepped in with a broad grin. He had a small badge on his robes that spelled: 'INVESTIGATIVE RESEARCH: TEMPORARY PASS'.

'You needn't get so het up about this, Herms. No one's in yet anyway, so I don't think anyone overheard.'

'It's bad enough that you know,' Hermione said, crossly, 'Temps aren't supposed to be in the know about confidential projects.'

Orson had joined the IR Dep nine months back as an intern and soon graduated to a temporary researcher. He had been placed under Hermione and they had worked on the Carletto case together, back when it was simply a matter of protocol. He was a good-tempered, enthusiastic researcher and apart from his obnoxious habit of eating candy in the office, Hermione was rather fond of him. She had taken to discussing some of her projects with him, although she made it a point not to divulge too much information.

'I might not be a temp for too long and then your conscience will be cleared, anyway,' Orson said, shutting the door behind him and striding over to her desk. He perched himself on one corner and said, 'Richard called me in yesterday and told me a position might be clearing soon. I'll have to sit through an interview, but it makes sense to gun for it.'

Hermione blinked. 'Orson, that's wonderful! Did Ricky say when?'

Orson shrugged. 'Who knows? But sometime soon, hopefully. So I figured I might as well get familiar with your project while it's still hot.'

Hermione grinned. 'I think we should wait for your clearance before that. When's the interview?'

'In the next few days,' Orson said, vaguely. He dug a box of peppermints out of his pocket and popped one into his mouth. After about a minute of deliberate chewing, he said, 'Want to sit with me this afternoon and go over some key points?'

Hermione was tempted, but she had promised to help Richard draft out a letter to the Malfoys explaining the current position. 'Sorry Orson, but I have a meeting with Ricky. Why don't you sit with Leonie or one of the other subs?'

Orson made a distasteful face. 'I can't stand Leonie. She's too pert. Besides, my mother would have a field day if she knew I was working with a blonde. She calls them the devil's sunshine.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. Orson's mother was a widow, who was permanently ensconced in a wheelchair despite having no apparent physical ailment, and who had rather a skewed view of life. Hermione had met her once - when Orson had wheeled her for a brief trip to the Ministry atrium to see what she called 'those shiny statues' and she had been rather unfavorably impressed. On the other hand, Orson worshipped his mother. His father had died when he was two and his mother and he had been fairly close.

'I'm going to be busy, Orson. I'll sit with you tomorrow evening, if you like. And for heaven's sake, stop eating that peppermint. You smell like a candy factory.'

Orson grinned and display pink-and-white striped teeth, 'Whatever you say, boss. I'll be at my station if you need me.'

The letter came to the Malfoy Manor via a chocolate brown owl that bore the Ministry stamp. Draco felt a chill as soon as he saw it - he knew it couldn't bring good news.

His mother had retired to her bedroom. In the two days following his father's death, she had walked around filled with a cold energy that seemed to stem from nowhere. She had his robes packed in silk-lined trunks and put away in the attic, perhaps for Draco to take down some day. His trinkets - which included a gold-trimmed pipe, his cane, a monocle and a few rings - were packed carefully in velvet and stored in some or the other cupboard. She had gone through his finances as well, and written to Gringotts to have his account transferred to her name. Draco had been briefly worried that she would enquire into his trust fund, but thankfully, she had forgotten all about it.

_A secret is a secret,_ he reminded himself.

They had received the autopsy report right away and the body had been handed over to them as soon as possible. The Malfoys had kept it in the Manor cold room for now, but Draco knew they'd have to bury it the next day.

'Just the two of us,' his mother had said, 'I know he might have wanted a grand funeral, but I don't think I can go through with this.'

Draco had agreed.

He took the envelope from the owl and sent it on its way, before closing his study window and sitting down at the desk. He perused the letter carefully for a few minutes, before folding it and putting it into his paper tray.

Well, he had known there would be repercussions.

He had to discuss this with his mother, he knew. But first, there was someone else he'd have to meet.

Draco pulled on a pair of moss green robes and then asked one of the House Elves to tell his mother he'd gone to the Averys'.


	4. Money and Transactions

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Avery's Mansion, which had been in his family for the last twenty three generations, was a large block of creamy brown stone perched at the crest of a small hillock. It was far enough from the city for it to be truly termed 'country', but opulent enough to avoid merging into its surroundings. Its blunted corners were decorated with flocks of gargoyles and a couple of turrets emerged from its western wing. The garden around it was filled with dark firs, save for a small patch which Lady Avery had converted into a rose garden - it now sported blood-coloured flowers.

Draco walked down the drive and paused at the porch. Visitors normally had to use the lion-headed knocker, but there was a spiral staircase off the side of the manor which led directly to Avery's room. Darkness was already falling and a light mist had begun to gather, so Draco drew his hood and mounted the staircase, which led to an old-fashioned balcony and rather modern French windows trimmed with some sort of silken curtains.

He rapped loudly on the glass.

A split second later the curtain was twitched aside, and Avery's pale face peered out. His features relaxed when he saw Draco and he stepped back, opening the window. The room was warm and Draco pulled off his cloak as soon as he entered, shaking the moisture of his head.

'Why the sudden visit?' he demanded, 'Did you leave your mother alone at home? How is she doing after - well, you know...'

Draco walked across the room and seated himself on an armchair. 'She's alright. That's not why I came here. I had a letter from the Ministry this evening.'

Avery raised an eyebrow. 'About?'

'The formalities surrounding my father's death. They're going to need to put together information for the inquest.'

Avery looked slightly surprised. 'There's going to be an inquest?'

'Of course,' Draco said, with a touch of contempt, 'Former Death Eater drops dead for no reason? What else could one expect?'

Avery was silent for a moment. 'There wasn't any indication of - well, of foul play, was there?'

'No. But I think they just want to be sure. Either way, they're sending one of their Investigative Research Employees to stay at the Manor for a month and put together the documentation.'

Avery whistled. 'A _mont__h_?'

'Oh, that's not the worst of it. Guess which employee they mean? Hermione Granger.'

Avery went quiet. He looked at Draco thoughtfully, and then said, 'Bushy hair?'

'That's the one.'

'That puts us in a bit of a pickle, doesn't it?'

Draco sighed. 'You're right. It does. That's why I brought this for now. It's about five thousand.'

He rummaged in the folds of the cloak he'd pulled off and handed Avery a small sackful of galleons.

'Five thousand?'

'That should keep you for the next couple of weeks, shouldn't it? I don't know when I can sneak you money next. It'll be difficult with Granger poking around.'

Avery nodded and charmed the sack so it shrunk to a minute size, before slipping it into his pocket. 'It should be okay. It'll cover the furnishings, at least. I'll send you an owl or something when the plan's finalised.'

Draco shook his head. 'Don't,' he said, 'It's too risky. Look, I'll give you my Gringotts key so if anything comes up, just go into that account I set up and withdraw some cash. I'll come and see you. Keep your ears open for anything unusual, though. Carletto hasn't sung yet, but you never know when something might go awry. And if people find out we're behind this -'

'That's the end,' Avery said, soberly.

* * *

Hermione worked late that night, filing the last of her project reviews. She would be leaving for the Malfoy Manor in two days time - they hadn't responded to the letter, but Richard said they had no choice - and she wanted to clear out her cluttered paper tray before that. The light had already dimmed from the artificial window outside her cubicle, replaced with an improbably large moon with a slightly-too-yellowish shine. She drained her cup of coffee - the last of the day, she promised herself - and signed the last paper, before charming it into a memo that zoomed its way to Richard's office.

She was debating whether to leave for home - she knew that Ron and Melissa had planned a date night and the last thing she wanted was to interrupt, but before she could pack up her things she heard a rather frantic knock at the door and it was flung open. Richard strode into her room, a kind of wild excitement on his face.

'Breakthrough!' he snarled.

Hermione blinked. 'Excuse me?'

He yanked out the chair in front of her desk and sat on it, before pushing a single sheet of paper towards her. 'A breakthrough, finally. This came from my contact at Gringotts about two minutes ago.'

Hermione frowned and picked up the sheet. It was a transaction report. She checked the account number and bit her lip. 'Malfoy withdrew money?'

'Oh, he didn't withdraw anything. He transferred cash.'

Hermione felt the excitement building up in her stomach. 'He transferred cash? You mean a transfer we can trace?'

Richard nodded. 'You're damn right. Check the bottom of the slip.'

Hermione's eyes dropped and then she frowned. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't this.

'This - this doesn't make sense,' she said, puzzled.

Richard shrugged. 'It's a lead, isn't it?'

Hermione glanced up and locked eyes with him. 'According to this, Malfoy transferred money to a hospital in New Delhi, India. Why on Earth would be do that?'


End file.
